


Share Skins and Sins

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"This little meeting of ours isn't entirely without agenda."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Share Skins and Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 10x04, 'Insiders'; 10x10 - 10x11, 'The Quest'  
> Warnings: Sexual situations, violence, a little BDSM, and some character death.

For a considerable time in the galaxy, the idea of neutral ground was laughable. System Lords were highly territorial, rarely sociable, and frankly, enjoyed hurting each other immensely. Deals were cut with a grain of salt.

But in this tiny pub on some backwater planet in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, Ba'al was agreeing to call a limited truce. Then again, it was easier to claim neutrality when he knew he wasn't looking to cut any deals.

She arrived draped in an unflattering beige cloak. Ba'al smirked and took a sip of his wine. "Sneaking out, are we?"

"Well, I wouldn't want anyone to know how low I've stooped," she said, her voice a thin, blade-sharp edge. She tried to maintain a cool pretense, but Ba'al got the impression he'd been on the money, as the Tau'ri said. Say what you will about their more annoying traits, of which they had many, they did have an unusual way with words and excellent tailors.

Under normal circumstances, more refined ones, Ba'al would have been threading the stem of a glass through his fingers. He found it did give him a certain elegant air. So much of this business was utter appearance. But here in this pub, the wine was cheap and potent, and served in clay mugs one had to handle in a death grip. He took a casual sip. "Take off your coat," he said. "Stay awhile."

"I find your kind largely useless," she answered. "You're nothing more than pitiful parasites."

"Who waste perfectly good human bodies that could be put to better use swearing mindless devotion to the Ori?" he guessed the rest, disgusted by her lack of decorum. She didn't even have the dignity to engage in a little conversation before insulting him flat-out.

In response to his taunt, the Orici merely glared at him, a gesture he'd never found threatening, least of all from her, such a sad little youth. "I find it interesting that you still maintain the pretense of despising me," he said casually, "when we both know why you're here."

"I'm here because you proposed an alliance."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he borrowed a colloquialism from the humans. "We both know I have no intention of joining your 'cause', just as you have no intention of letting me live. You've proven that already, by killing one of my clones."

"It was necessary. It's not as though you're wanting for them. Which speaks wonders for your ego, by the way."

Ba'al laughed at her gall. "You remind me of your mother."

The Orici's voice was cold. "You don't know my mother."

"I know your mother much better than you think I do," he said. "Perhaps much better than you do. Are you aware that your mother was once one of us, one of the 'parasites' you so despise?"

She bristled. "That's a lie."

"Surely she's mentioned this," he said, reveling in his victory. "Perhaps you've heard of the goddess Qetesh?" He leaned forward, bracing his arms against the shoddy table. "She was a minor Goa'uld. In my service," he made his point cruelly.

The Orici was nothing if not obstinate, leaning back and crossing her arms over her cloaked chest like a petulant child. "I won't be swayed by such obvious lies."

"I assure you, they're anything but. You could ask her yourself, sometime. Maybe you'd have a sweet mother-daughter moment. This would, of course, take place in between the bits where she's recruiting the Tau'ri to destroy you. Imagine that, killing her own flesh and blood. How very like a Goa'uld, wouldn't you say?"

"What could you possibly hope to gain from telling me this?" she demanded, after a telltale hesitation.

"Nothing at all. I believe it's what you're owed, since the Ori claim to be all about divine knowledge." He smirked. "Although I admit, this little meeting of ours isn't entirely without agenda. Qetesh did me a great... disservice."

"She betrayed you."

Ba'al chuckled again, but this one was tinged with bitterness he couldn't hide. He finished off the rest of his cheap, tasteless wine and beckoned for a refill. "Her loyalty to me was superficial at best. It was my experience that symbiote and host were adequately matched in Qetesh, which made her all the more difficult. She caused a great deal of trouble."

"You're looking for revenge," the Orici said with revulsion.

"Surely the clone you abducted didn't mention this?" he said. "Those times you used him?"

This flabbergasted her, leaving Ba'al with a rare bout of sweet silence. "Close your mouth," he said, "it's giving me... ideas." She glowered, though he could see a pink tinge to her neck and the beginnings of her cleavage in the showy outfit. He leaned in close, his voice nothing more than a hiss. "I am not exactly swimming in free time. How about we get to the point? Why don't we recognize this for what it is, a desire to exercise some physical needs. Whether or not I get any psychological benefit from the situation is my own business. And I'll even overlook your careless abduction and disposal of my clone, although the implications of that are obvious."

"There are no implications. I wanted you for information."

"Ah, 'want.' That's the key word. It would appear even the almighty Orici isn't above the base needs of her human body." He bared his teeth at her. "It's very interesting that neither of us are particularly human, yet both of us occasionally succumb to the simple biological desires of these bodies."

The Orici got to her feet abruptly, with a dramatic swish of her cloak. "This is ridiculous," she said, storming to the door. She made the grievous mistake of picking an exit route too close to their table, and Ba'al easily snatched hold of her thin forearm and pulled her down onto his lap.

"It's rude to walk out of a business meeting," he cautioned her, looping one arm around her narrow waist and gripping his fingers deep into her thighs. To the casual observer, they appeared to be two lovers who could no longer manage restraint. "I'll admit I'm using you, just as you used me for information. Although," he smirked, "I can't imagine I gave you much. Besides," he added, "this isn't entirely without benefits."

She wriggled with a furious expression. "I won't stand for this."

"You appear to be sitting," he mocked. His tone was light, but his hold tightened to remind her this was not so simple a situation.

The Orici leaned in close to meet him with a dark glare. "I could have you killed in seconds."

"My dear," he said, "I've provided you with ample opportunities to do so, and you've shied from all of them." It was shamefully true, an act going against his reputation and his entire nature, but he'd been overcome with curiosity at precisely what her 'powers' entailed. She'd yet to display them satisfactorily.

She acknowledged this by looking away.

"Come now," he said, although it was anything but a request. "We wouldn't want to scandalize the humans."

Ba'al was a little surprised when she went upstairs with him without further complaint. The worst he got was a series of dirty looks, the result of his manhandling as he gripped her elbow severely and steered her towards the room.

The Orici fascinated and infuriated him. She was an anomaly, not meant to exist, abusing the rules of the humans, yet somehow gaining their trust and loyal worship. In a matter of months, she had managed to undermine thousands of years of hard work executed by the Goa'uld (which admittedly, had been somewhat undone by a near-decade of interference by the Tau'ri, who in turn had first introduced the Ori to this galaxy, from what he understood— the sheer viciousness of the irony amused him).

The room was as ragged as the bar it sat over, clean but lacking glamour. No sooner had the door closed behind them than Ba'al found himself with his back to the wall, legs dangling helplessly, held in place by an invisible force. Clearly, her resigned willingness between the bar and here had all been a deception. He didn't mind, in fact, he preferred the challenge.

"Ah," he said, "so you do have powers."

With a huff of annoyance, she released him and he clattered to the wooden floor. It was only due to the wall behind him that he was spared the indignity of collapsing. He straightened himself, adjusting his collar.

"Yes," she said coolly, "I do."

"Another myth dispelled," he smirked. He was so busy dusting off his lapels and fixing his clothes that she hadn't noticed the surreptitious slip of his fingers into the chilly metal of the concealed ribbon device. That is, she didn't notice until he pulled his hand from his pocket and knocked her to her knees with a powerful blast of energy. Her face screwed up in hatred, she glared at him through the yellow light of the device. Suddenly Ba'al felt his hand being flung high and back towards the wall, holding firm, as though propelled by a magnet. Grimacing, the Orici got to her feet.

"I closed my mind to you," she said. "I won't make that mistake again."

Still, he felt the force exerted on his wrist lessen and he lowered his arm. "No, I suppose you won't. But enough games."

"Isn't that how your kind operates?" she asked, approaching him with slow, deliberate steps like she had marked him as prey. "Games, trickery, blatant lies to steal worship?" She was next to him now, pushing herself up those few extra inches to press her mouth against his and part his lips with her tongue.

Ba'al allowed himself a few moments to savor this, the taste of defiance, before he grabbed her forearms and roughly jerked her away. "None of that, now," he cautioned. She backed a step away, to wrench herself from his grasp if nothing else. "And what of the Ori?" he asked. "They invade this galaxy, win the hearts of the masses who once worshipped the Goa'uld. Are they not stealing?"

The Orici's gaze was both icy cold and yet setting him ablaze. "The Ori are freeing the minds of those who once pledged loyalty to false gods."

"Ah," he said, "but loyalty _was_ pledged. And that, my dear, is a contract. By breaking that bond between the human and the Goa'uld, the Ori are no better than we are. Worse, in fact. We only desire power. We have no delusions of being the gods we claim. We lie to the humans, but not to ourselves. Can the Ori claim the same? Is their manifesto free of lies? Do they speak only honestly to their worshippers?"

"The divine power of the Ori is altogether real, I assure you," she said. "I'm living proof of that."

"Really. I was under the impression you were a mere experiment."

"As if the Goa'uld have never pushed the boundaries of science and human physiology to further their own careless whims."

She wasn't wrong, and yet, "Are you suggesting the whims of your precious Ori are careless?"

The Orici rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you feel so very righteous, but you've won neither my favor nor my respect," she said. "Shut up." He found his belt loosening by invisible hands.

Cheating irritated him when he himself wasn't the cheater. Clothes shed, he found her skin pale and unblemished, which sent a jet of hot rage all through him. There was something to be said about attaining victory the old-fashioned way, through battle as well as alliances and deceptions. Ba'al hadn't gotten to be the second most powerful Goa'uld in the galaxy (and now the foremost) without suffering a little for his troubles. He forwent the mattress, which looked lumpy, and instead stooped the Orici over the back of a quaintly handcrafted chair. Sweat glistened on her back, beads bubbled on skin that was as deceptively flawless as its owner. Thoroughly rigid with hate and lust, he slammed into her and exorcised the urges that were neither human nor Goa'uld.

Ba'al contented himself in marking the Orici squirm, the leader of an extensive army bending to his will in the way no Goa'uld ever had, issuing pleas in ragged breath. He had, of course, earned the compliance of very powerful individuals in the past. He'd also enjoyed the many physical pleasures this body had to offer. But never the two together. It was a very entertaining change of pace.

Ba'al was taken aback but not completely surprised to find himself being flung across the room to land hard and sloppily on the mattress that was exactly as uncomfortable as he'd imagined. He was pinned in place, tied down with a million unseen strings, and he admired the control the Orici was able to use, all the while exhibiting a complete lack of restraint. She lowered herself onto him, eyes blazing. Ba'al couldn't move if he wanted to, not that he was thinking about it. It was a most inconvenient position, but not without its advantages. He couldn't judge if her body was as strong a weapon as her mind, but it was certainly built as such, tight and contained, hard and unyielding. She was hardly even out of breath as she glided over him.

It was now a question of stamina, yet another level in their power struggle. Of course, losing this game only cost him a moment or two of ego and gave her dual satisfaction. Desirable though she might be, he still considered her an adversary.

There were, however, far worse ways to engage in a power struggle.

* * *

Adria, though her body was a little tired, was not terribly exhausted. She found energy enough to rise from the bed and carefully pour herself back into her hastily scattered clothes, buzzing from the force of Ba'al's gaze on her body.

"Ah," he said vaguely, his voice sleepy and satisfied, "so _that's_ how you manage." He gestured at her skintight leather pants. "I always thought it was just another... gift of the Ori."

Adria didn't answer. He didn't expect her to, and there was no point. Instead, she just narrowed her gaze on him, and as she distracted him with that, snapped his neck with mere thought. He broke just as easily as the previous Ba'al had, once he'd ceased being useful. Adria leaned over and slid her hand across his jaw. He was, admittedly, very pretty, so long as he didn't talk or move. "For mother," she said softly. It wasn't the real Ba'al, the real Ba'al was probably long since dead. But she'd find the others and get rid of them, one by one. It was her gift to Mother, proof of all the greatness of Origin. Absolution. Erasing Mother's sins and freeing her from her dark past.

She closed lids over unseeing eyes. "Hallowed are the Ori."


End file.
